Trivial Things
by Scotch
Summary: It was pathetic, and he'd admit it over his dead body, but Shay knew he would give anything not to have to sleep alone. The hardest thing after leaving the Assassins was waking up to an empty bed, without Liam beside him. And when had the Grandmaster, who had never been anything but cold and calculating, become the person Shay wanted to run to?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Assassin's Creed, nor am I writing this for any sort of profit.

This story, until chapter 34, was originally written by Shaytham on Ao3 and FF. I am editing and continuing it with her permission.

 **Warnings/Tags:** Spoilers, profanity, canon-typical violence, canon divergence, altered/slightly inaccurate time lines, PTSD and depression, also fluff, homophobia (I mean, it's the 1700's...), implied sexual content (If you want the actual porn look me up under the same UN on Archive of our own)

 **Notes:** I'm so excited for this! Shaytham and I have known each other for a very long time, and we decided that Trivial Things shouldn't be be forever unfinished, even if she doesn't have the time for writing anymore these days. I don't plan on changing much, just cleaning it up and picking it up where Shaytham left off and ...killing a certain love triangle that was never to my personal tastes. Most of the changes I will be making are minor grammatical edits; It's really only a few of the later chapters that will be more noticeable changes. Either way, it's in good hands since I had quite a lot of input on the original.

Enjoy the story, and please do comment/review!

* * *

 **Chapter 1:** Coping Mechanisms, or a Lack Thereof

* * *

The previous two weeks were a blur, obscured in an alcohol induced haze of apathy and utter misery. It had been Charles who had finally dragged Shay out of the little hole in the wall tavern in Greenwich, and confined him to Fort Arsenal. He stood hunched over the wrought iron railing of his bedroom's balcony, looking down at the flower garden in the courtyard below. Shay was a sight to behold, in desperate need of a shave, with his hair an unbound mess. He had a splitting headache, and was sure he would vomit if he dared open his mouth. He half hoped Charles would walk underneath the balcony so he could properly test that theory. Sadly, that was the most profound thought Shay was capable of at that moment.

He hadn't taken Liam's death well. He knew that coming to terms with it would be difficult, but he just wasn't coping. Not at all. In his own mind he had been; he just needed to be drunker. A _lot_ drunker. But Charles had come along and ruined that plan, and he and Gist wouldn't let him leave until he was stone cold sober. He didn't know who Charles thought he was, really. If nothing else, Shay had more than a few plans to get the arrogant sod off that high horse of his. He'd been insufferable from the beginning, and his behavior when around Haytham often reminded Shay of an insecure husband who was terrified that someone would steal his trophy wife's affections. ...Not that it bore thinking about. Haytham would probably murder the both of them if he knew that such an image had so much as crossed Shay's mind.

Speaking of Haytham...

"I'm a dead man." Shay groaned, resting his head on the cool metal railing. Perhaps that was an exaggeration. No, Haytham wouldn't kill him, but there was sure to be one hell of a lecture. Haytham hadn't been lying when he'd made that comment to Achilles about how he'd been working on trying to remedy Shay's occasional total lack of etiquette. He'd have a canary when he found out Shay had spent an entire two weeks three sheets to the wind. ...And then Charles would preen like some kind of overzealous pea-hen while fishing for praise from the Grandmaster for dragging Shay out of his favored den of iniquity. Shay wasn't sure he'd survive the shame, or Haytham's disappointment. He cringed at the thought. There were few things he feared more than the man's disapproval.

A loud rapping on his closed bedroom door tore Shay from his brooding, and seemed to echo through his skull like someone had driven a blade through it with each sharp knock. A sick little voice in the back of his head hoped it was Charles, because he'd feel terrible if any of the others wound up covered in vomit that reeked of stale whiskey. He grunted noncommittally, not really trusting himself to form actual words. Honestly, he couldn't ever remember being that ill after too much drink. Though, to be fair, he'd never been quite _that_ drunk before either.

"I hear you've made quite the tosspot of yourself in my absence." Shay wanted to just kick the railing in frustration. "I'm rather disappointed in you, Shay."

"Hardly, I was half seas over at the worst o' it," Shay replied in a valiant attempt of preserving his badly wounded dignity, amazed that he managed to speak without slurring. He stumbled back into the room, holding his face in his hands and completely ignored Haytham as he flopped into the chair near his writing desk with all the grace of an intoxicated ape. Miserably, he leaned forward and rested his head on the oaken surface as he wasn't quite capable of sitting up without making the room spin. Haytham sat down on the edge of the bed near Shay and sighed irritably.

"What brought this on, exactly?" Haytham asked, watching the pitiful wretch of a man like a hawk.

"You need a healthier way of coping with grief," He added pointedly when Shay didn't reply, and fixed him with a stern glare. "This is thoroughly unacceptable."

"What do you suggest then, Sir?" Shay grumbled, running his fingers through his hopelessly tangled hair as if the motion would lessen the tension in his skull.

"Believe me, I am not the one to ask. However, if you want to to make yourself useful you might as well clean yourself up and head to the waterfront. The local criminals have moved back into their old headquarters there. Deal with it and report back to me," Haytham told him sharply and swept from the room without waiting for a response. Shay swore under his breath. As far as lectures went, it was pretty tame for Haytham. Somehow, though, that just made it feel worse – like Shay wasn't worth wasting the effort of a proper rant on. If anything, it seemed like pity and that made him want to scream. He didn't want or need anyone's pity, least of all Haytham's.

Bathed, shaved and dressed in clean clothes, Shay stumbled out into the afternoon sunlight for the first time in two weeks. He still ached all over, and doubted himself capable of stringing together a proper sentence, but the fresh air was doing wonders for him. Slowly, he made his way to the waterfront. There wasn't any point in rushing to get there; running out of steam before the fighting started wouldn't do much good.

There was a chill in the air, a firm reminder that winter was near and it promised to be a harsh one. The streets were quiet, aside from the usual local louts and a few of the gang's members prowling the alleys. Shay made short work of them, a little disconcerted with how easily he did it. It was as if his body was simply designed to kill, and he didn't really need to actually _think_ about what he was doing anymore. A whore standing on the corner near a tavern winked at him, and Shay thought momentarily about Haytham telling him to find a better outlet for his emotional turmoil. He shook his head and kept walking.

When he finally reached the gang's headquarters near nightfall, he hid behind a large brick chimney on the roof of a neighboring building and watched them carefully before striking. There were two snipers on the rooftops, armed with rifles fitted with long bayonets. From his vantage point, Shay could also see that they had rebuilt most of the poison making equipment he'd destroyed when he ran them out of the place the first time.

"...Pain in my arse," He muttered to himself and slunk along the rooftop, dispatching the closest sniper with a clean slice across his windpipe. Absently, Shay shook the blood off of his gloves and took out the next marksman with the same throwing knife he'd slit the first one's throat with. He crumpled silently onto the roof tiles with the small knife lodged in his base of his neck. The gang's flag, bearing the Assassins' emblem, was flying nearby as well. That, Shay cut down, folded neatly and shoved into an empty grenade pouch attached to his belt. He figured it would be best to hand it over to Haytham. He'd want to know if the Assassins were backing the gangs again, and he'd want proof.

Shay hopped onto the roof of the main building of the gang's compound and skidded down a drainage pipe into a thick clump of vegetation. He disarmed and silently killed the guard standing next to it with a hidden blade, and looked around for the leader. He spotted her standing near a large metal drum as she oversaw some men rifling through the Templar fleet's records that had been left in the base when it was attacked. Shay hoped none of the information had gotten to their higher ups; if the ships en route to India were intercepted it would be a nightmare. Deciding that he was done wasting time, he pulled out his pistol and shot the gang leader cleanly through the back of the head. She fell in an awkward heap, and the men scrambled to respond. Shay must have killed about fifteen of them before the rest grew a brain and fled the scene.

Covered in blood, some of which was his, Shay rolled up the fleet's naval charts and shoved them under his arm. He also emptied out the gang's strongbox and kicked a criminal that was still breathing in the ribs.

Sometime near midnight, Shay made it back to Fort Arsenal. Haytham was nowhere to be found, so he just tossed the bloodied naval charts and Assassin flag unceremoniously onto his desk. He'd deal with it in the morning.

Shay lay awake in his bed, staring at the ceiling. He longed to be sailing the north sea, bundled in warm blankets in his cabin on board the _Morrigan_. He was safe there; nothing could touch him. The cold salt air made him feel alive, unlike the stench of New York. To him, the sea meant freedom whereas the narrow streets of Greenwich felt like a cage. He rolled over and tucked his head under the duvet. Shay had seen to the few insignificant wounds he'd acquired while making mincemeat of the gang. It didn't bother him, really. He was covered in scars as it was, what difference did a few more small ones make?

Sleep wouldn't come to him, though, even tired as he was. The headache was mostly gone; a decent meal and some strong tea had taken care of that. It was just that every time he closed his eyes, he could swear that Liam was there with him. He haunted Shay, in both his dreams and his waking hours. Shay tried to tell himself that maybe it was for the better. After all, the nightmares of Liam were ridden with guilt and pain, rather than pure adrenaline and terror like the ones of Lisbon. It was almost a relief to wake up in a state of misery, instead of lying face-down on the floor with his heart pounding and his breath stuck in his throat.

After a while, he gave up on sleeping and padded down the stairs to the kitchen in nothing but a pair of loose, ill-fitting canvas pants that he liked to sleep in. There were some scones in a basket on the counter, so he grabbed one and sat on the stool near the little wooden table in the center of the room. Absentmindedly, he took a bite of the slightly stale blueberry scone and stared into the cooling embers that flickered in the grate on the other side of the kitchen.

A vivid memory of sitting on the floor in the rat-hole of a home he'd shared with Liam before they went to stay at the homestead flashed through his mind. He'd been curled up in his threadbare blanket with a cup of tea and a fresh blueberry scone from the bakery down the street. Liam was beside him, with Shay's head resting on his shoulder and his arm curled around his waist. It was a cold winter's night, and the thin walls did little to keep the chill out, but there was a warmth there that Shay knew he would never feel again.

He threw the scone across the kitchen and watched as it landed in the still-burning embers. Glad that no one could see him on the verge of tears like a besotted woman, he leaned forward with his head in his hands and took a shaky breath. He wasn't coping. He couldn't take it any longer, nor could he keep lying to himself. He wasn't all right anymore. He was broken into too many pieces to be put back together.

* * *

 **Three sheets to the wind** – really, really drunk

 **Tosspot** – a drunkard

 **Half Seas Over** – half drunk, tipsy


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2:** Milking the Pigeon

* * *

To say Haytham was worried about Shay would be a gross understatement. He wasn't sure what the others expected of him, really. The man was only human, and everyone had a breaking point. Some were just harder to reach than others. If he had to listen to Charles or Benjamin complaining about Shay's apparent drinking habit one more time, he might kill one of them. Gist and Thomas at least kept their mouths shut. To be fair, he expected both of them knew better than to call the kettle black, and Gist was around Shay often enough to understand the difficulty he was having in dealing with his friends' deaths. At least after Hope, Haytham had been able to keep him busy enough to distract him. He'd seen the signs then, but Liam apparently had been the last straw.

Now, however, there wasn't much for Shay to occupy himself with seeing as he'd exhausted the few leads they had on the precursor box for the time being. He wasn't the type to sit around handling the more bureaucratic aspects of the Order, after all. There really wasn't much to do about it, either. Shay would just have to sort himself out on his own; he was a grown man after all, and he'd made his choices. Haytham just wouldn't be too hard on him unless he veered off the right path and back to the Assassins, not that he had any reason to suspect such a thing. Shay was nothing if not a loyal Templar.

"Well, that's rather distasteful," Haytham, muttered, crinkling his nose at the sight of the bloodstained naval maps left on his desk. He unrolled one and remembered that the ships dispatched to India were due back during the week, according to Shay's meticulous entries in the ledger. ...He hoped they didn't run into any trouble, not that there was a whole lot to be done about it at that point. He shoved the maps aside and didn't need to bother unfolding the yellowish canvas flag to know it bore the Assassin insignia. Shay wouldn't have brought it otherwise. Well, that was bothersome. They were like a nest of tenacious cockroaches, even without Achilles to guide them and Hope to rally the local criminals.

"Sir, we have a problem," Haytham frowned, and turned to face Charles who was standing in the open doorway with a look on his face like someone had died. That couldn't be a good thing.

"What is it?" Haytham asked, snatching the Assassin flag and dropping it into the fireplace like the refuse that it was.

"We've just received word that we've lost Fort Baie Rouge to the Assassins, and they've been laying waste to our ships around the North Sea. Apparently they've acquired a new vessel, the _Aquila_ , and she's on par with our Morrigan," Charles explained glumly. Haytham was just glad it might give Shay something to do, and set out to locate him immediately.

He found Shay in the armory, sitting in the middle of the floor with one of his pistols in pieces around him. It was old, and well worn with a plain wooden handle and a bit of corrosion on the metal parts from being at sea for so long. Shay mumbled something about it having a clog in the barrel, and didn't even look at Haytham. Haytham crouched down beside him and noticed, with some amount of concern, that his hands were shaking.

"We've lost Fort Baie Rouge," He said flatly. "And a ship called the _Aquila_ needs dealing with _._ Is there anything you know about this that we don't?"

"About the fort? No, that's news to me. The Aquila's been a right royal pain, though. She's makin' a wreck o' our fleet. The Morrigan isn't enough to deal with her alone. I'm goin' to send a few frigates after her when I get news about the mission in India. Sooner if we don't hear anythin' by the end o' the week. That ought to light a fire under her arse," Shay explained and got up, brushing dust off his pants.

"We should recapture the fort in the meantime," Haytham suggested, watching Shay place the reassembled pistol back on its display.

"No, not until the _Aquila_ is dealt with. I don't know who her captain is, but I reckon old Faulkner is still her first mate and that man is one hell o' a sailor, if the stories are true. We won't be able to hold the fort until after we sink the _Aquila_ ," Shay explained dully. Apparently she'd been giving him problems for a while now, and he hadn't seen the need to mention it. "She ain't easy t'get rid of neither. She nearly sunk in a storm while chasin' a Templar trade ship here a couple years back. They must o' repaired or rebuilt her."

"...In a storm you say?" Haytham mumbled curiously, recalling the ship that had tailed the _Providence_ nearly all the way to colonies in a last ditch effort to eliminate him. He'd seen the foremast get struck by lightening and the ship lost its bearings instantly. She couldn't have survived that... Could she?

"Aye, lost her main mast but she made it back to safety in one piece. The men sailin' for the fleet have taken to calling her the 'ghost o' the north sea'. She's been givin' them no in end in trouble," Shay replied. "Rushin' in after her won't do us any good, unless you fancy diggin' graves. She's lighter and faster than the Morrigan in a good wind, and armed nearly as well."

"Damn." Haytham shook his head. "Is nothing ever easy?"

"Not in my experience," Shay retorted, finally cracking a weak smile.

"Nor mine," The Grandmaster conceded with a wince. "Walk with me, would you?" He added and headed out toward the foyer, knowing Shay would follow whether he answered or not. It was disconcerting sometimes, how obedient Shay was for the most part – in spite of his occasional total lack of manners. But unlike Charles, he wasn't fishing for praise or a promotion. Shay was doing his job to the best of his ability. True, sometimes he questioned his orders, but the reasons were normally legitimate strategical concerns. And, in the few cases that Shay disobeyed a direct command, it usually led to less bloodshed and better results. He was highly efficient, and Haytham had far more respect for his judgment in the field than that of any of the others that worked for him.

"Where are we goin', Sir?" Shay asked, a few paces behind Haytham as he stepped through the door leading to the courtyard. Shay closed it behind him as Haytham looked skyward with a frown. "It'll be a few hours at least before it starts stormin'. Not 'til after sundown, probably," Shay said, answering Haytham's unspoken but obvious question.

"Hm. Very well then." Haytham waved to one of the guards near the main gate. He stepped aside and nodded politely to the two men as they passed. He thought to ask Shay how he could tell exactly when it would storm, but he assumed it was an old sailor's trick rather than some kind of sixth sense. Speaking of a sixth sense...

Haytham stopped in his tracks and whirled around as the faint, yet unmistakable gurgling sound of a man drowning in his own blood from a slit windpipe caught his ears. Shay gave him a knowing glance, and dropped the lifeless corpse of a would-be Assassin behind the pile of hay he'd apparently tried to leap out of. He wiped the blood off his hands, and kicked enough of the hay over the body to hide it for a while. It should have worried Haytham that he could kill a man and dispose of the evidence with such practiced ease, yet such a thought would be hypocritical at best. Haytham was raised to be a killer. Shay may have became one out of necessity, because murder was preferable to starvation, but both of them were still human.

"You should watch your back, Sir. There's more o' them about," Shay said in a low tone and walked at Haytham's side rather than behind him.

"Do you think they'll try to take Fort Arsenal back?" Haytham asked, now cautiously eying every niche that could hide a man.

"They can have it over my dead body." Shay grunted, and kicked a bit of refuse out of his way. With some amusement, Haytham thought that he might be a little grateful for all those years of only rarely leaving his family home as a child. City streets were loaded with filth, regardless of what city it was. At least New York was somewhat less disgusting than London, and smelled much better than Boston with that reeking mill pond.

Shay raised his eyebrows when Haytham led him to a bustling tavern, and held the door open for him. He had the tact not to comment as he stepped inside, dodging a husky brunette barmaid carrying a pile of tankards balanced precariously on a wooden tray. They found their way to an empty table in the far corner. Haytham sat by the foggy window, and Shay dragged a chair out from under a thoroughly unsuspecting besotted sailor, as there was only one at the table. Haytham tried, and failed, not to chuckle quietly to himself when the poor man fell on his rump and Shay just ignored his slurred cussing entirely.

"Why're we here, Sir?" Shay finally asked, waving over one of the barmaids. She was a willowy little thing with pale blonde hair and a wet beer stain on on her powder blue dress. One of the patrons must have spilled their drink on her for refusing them an illicit favor or two. "Whiskey. Or rum, whichever ain't piss water," Shay said gruffly, hardly sparing her a second glace.

"A beer will suffice," Haytham added, nodding his head in clear dismissal. She left without a word.

"Beer? I half expected you to order some sort o' posh vintage," Shay commented with a snort.

"I actually prefer beer or ale, and sometimes rum. But then, my father _was_ a pirate. I suppose I inherited some of his traits," Haytham told him flatly. "As for why we are here... I think you are well aware that we need to have a proper conversation about you behavior over the past couple weeks."

"This is hardly the place -"

"I think it's _just_ the place. Charles isn't here to bother me with tilly-tally I couldn't care less about, and Gist isn't here to try and defend you while he's drunk enough for both of you," Haytham replied tartly, and Shay shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

They sat in a stony silence for a few minutes, that was only interrupted by the barmaid returning with their drinks.

"I don't know what you want me to say. I don't regret it. If anythin', I'm itchin' to feed Charles his teeth for stoppin' me," Shay admitted, taking a swig of the whiskey. He made a face and stared down into the metal tankard in disgust. "I said I wanted whichever _wasn't_ watered down piss," He grumbled and shook his head.

"I honestly don't care if you regret it or not," Haytham told him, meeting his eyes in a sharp glare. "If drinking yourself into oblivion actually helped, I would have let you carry on for a while longer. That is my concern, Shay. You're a danger to yourself and those around you. You have become reckless at best. If you don't find a healthy way to deal with your guilt, it is going to kill you. Actually, it will probably kill _all_ of us if we manage to get caught in the crossfire."

"That's easier said than done, Sir," Shay growled, and gulped down some of the horrible excuse for whiskey. "Do you even know what you're bloody sayin'? You're askin' me to milk the pigeon, y'know? I killed my best friend. He saved my sorry arse from the streets, and I killed him. I know I had to do it, and I don't regret that, but it don't make it any easier. And that's not even countin' the thousands that died in Lisbon."

"You had no control over what happened in Lisbon," Haytham reassured him in a firm tone.

"Maybe not, but I did with the others. I keep tellin' myself that they had to die, and I know they did, but I wish to God I didn't have to be the one to do it. I don't want your pity, and I ain't havin' this conversation sober." Shay knocked back most of the whiskey in a single gulp slammed the nearly empty tankard down onto the table. How he could drink like that was beyond Haytham, but he was Irish _and_ a sailor.

"I am not here to offer pity. That word is hardly in my vocabulary. I _am_ offering an ultimatum: Get your wits about you, or there _will_ be consequences. I care about your well-being Shay, but I have limits. I have a rite of the Templar Order to maintain, and _you_ have a responsibility to that Order as well. There cannot be a repeat of this, and there is precious little that I can do do to help you if you have no desire to help yourself," Haytham hissed, barely audible over the rumble of drunken tavern patrons and a group of women singing near the bar.

"That sounds more like you, Boss." Shay dumped the rest of the whiskey into the large terracotta planter on the floor next to him, that was housing some kind of exotic palm plant. Haytham hoped it wouldn't kill the poor plant. "But... I don't know what to do. There's days I've thought about goin' after the _Aquila_ myself, just because I know I _won't_ survive it."

"If you want to talk about it, I am willing to listen. It's a start, anyway. You should know by now that I won't judge you based on your past, either," Haytham told him, finally feeling like he was getting somewhere. Trying to get Shay to discuss anything of a personal or emotional nature was about as useful as having a conversation with a rock wall. Haytham knew he was a poor choice to tackle that beast, when he was no less stubborn himself. Still, the only one he knew of that that Shay trusted enough to open up to was Gist, and that would just end in a tavern romp for the record books. ...And most likely more than a few dead bodies and/or illegitimate children.

"I... Fine. But not here. Not today," Shay finally ground out and dropped a few silver coins on the table for the drinks, and a fine a tip for the barmaid that looked like she was having far worse than the usual bad day. Haytham counted it as a victory and let Shay lead the way back to Fort Arsenal.

* * *

 **Milking the pigeon** – to do the impossible

 **Tilly-tally** – nonsense, trivial BS


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes:** I considered writing about a different ship since the _Aquila_ doesn't technically fit in the canon timeline, but I also feel like it should have at least been mentioned in AC Rogue.

* * *

 **Chapter 3:** The Ghost of the North Sea

* * *

The man o' war Shay had dispatched to India never returned. He hadn't expected it to, not after the Assassins got their grubby paws on his plans for the Templar fleet. Whether the _Soleil_ had been sunk or taken was an entirely different question, but not a priority. The _Aquila_ ,however, had used up the last of her luck.

Shay paced the length of the _Morrigan_ 's deck restlessly _._ He was aware of Haytham watching him out of the corner of his eye from where he waited at the helm, but chose to ignore him. He had one hand resting on the _Morrigan_ 's wheel, and the other on the the hilt of his sword. That, Shay knew, was an unconscious habit that he himself shared – gained from years of necessary paranoia. Gist was on Haytham's right, looking suitably cowed and obviously avoiding the Grandmaster's eye. He must have gotten quite the shaming from Haytham in regards to his own shenanigans.

Shay cleared his throat loudly. "Gist, get down here," He ordered, inclining his head toward the docks where two men were approaching. They were Thompson and O'Rielly, the captains of the _Marie_ and _Alouette_ , two of the three Frigates in the Templar fleet – 'liberated' from the French, of course. Shay hopped down from the deck of the _Morrigan_ and landed easily on the docks beside the two men. Gist followed, stumbling a bit as he climbed down.

"O'Rielly's told me that Baker got himself killed on a run-in with the _Aquila_ last month. That means the _Cherise_ has no Captain. But, I need all three o' them for this to work, because we're goin' after our 'ghost o' the north sea'. Gist, I need you to pilot the _Cherise_ temporarily. Haytham will serve as my first mate for now. This is goin' to be a risky battle, but she isn't goin' to know what hit her. The _Morrigan_ will serve as a decoy, and the three o' you will flank her. If we can keep her from hittin' and runnin', we'll make short work o' her with our combined firepower," Shay told the others.

"This is a terrible idea. You need me on board the _Morrigan_ ," Gist complained, glaring at Shay in annoyance.

Shay just ignored him. He had this all thought out, and he was _not_ going to argue about trifles this late in the plan. Gist wasn't wrong, though. It was hardly a good plan. A lot could go wrong, and Shay wasn't fond of leaving anything to chance. Still, it had to end somewhere, and this was the best he could come up with. He shook his head and motioned for Gist to follow him to the _Cherise_ with Thompson and O'Rielly in tow.

"Just do it; the _Cherise_ is docked at the end of the pier. Keep her behind the _Morrigan._ Thompson, l need you keep the _Marie_ to port, and O'Riely make sure the _Alouette_ is at my starboard side. Don't break formation unless we need to box the _Aquila_ in, or I tell you otherwise. Oh, and if one o' you cock robins puts a hole in the _Morrigan_ 's hull, I'll put one in your skull. Watch where you're aimin'; it might get tricky."

* * *

"Full sail! Get up that riggin'!" Shay barked, turning the wheel hard to avoid a nasty chunk of ice. The sky was clouding over, and the air had a bitter chill. It would snow soon, probably before morning. They had to press on before they lost visibility. It wasn't going to be an easy fight as it was; the last thing they needed was to sink each other because they couldn't see through the damned snow. It didn't matter, assuming Shay timed it right, they would run across the Aquila shortly after dawn of the next day. She'd left Halifax a day ahead of them, and as far as they knew, the crew had no idea they were being pursued. ...Not that Shay was taking that for granted.

"How long do you intend to avoid the inevitable, Shay?" Haytham asked, folding his arms across his chest for warmth. He was obviously not handling the cold very well, but never once complained. The crew answered to him without a the slightest hesitation as well. He had that air of authority about him and if he made an order, they scrambled to obey. Shay was beginning to wonder if he'd need to remind them who was _actually_ their captain.

"Mills, take the wheel. Martin, fill in for Haytham. Just keep heading due east, and come get me if anythin's evenly slightly amiss," Shay called, and two men came bounding to the upper deck. Mills, a seedy character, yet a lethal marksman, took the tiller. Martin, a muscular beast of an Irishman gave Haytham a curt nod and took his place. Both of them had been members of the _Morrigan's_ original crew when Shay was still an Assassin, but they owed their loyalty exclusively to Shay, regardless of his allegiances. He saved both their arses from being put down like dogs for petty theft by French troupes in Anticosti. They'd fight to the death if he asked it of them, and they'd do so without question or complaint.

"Shall we?" Shay asked, gesturing for Haytham to follow him. He threw open the doors to his cabin, and took a deep breath of the warm air that felt like fire after being in the cold for so long.

With a sigh, Shay plopped himself down in the chair behind the large mahogany desk. Haytham sat down across from him and fixed Shay with an expectant stare. Of course Haytham would just sit there and wait for him to talk. Though, Shay doubted he even knew what to ask. Haytham wasn't the sort of bloke who let much emotion show, and Shay imagined he would rather eat his own foot than talk about his own problems. ...If he even had any. That being said, Shay couldn't guess for the life of him, why Haytham felt the need to make him open up any of it.

"I'm not sure where to begin. So I guess I'll just start with the hardest part: Liam," Shay said, and leaned forward against the desk, resting his head in hands. "I don't want to to talk about this, but I have to, or nothin' will make much sense. Liam and I were... Well, we were lovers once. If you tell a soul that, I swear I will shoot you in the cock."

Haytham didn't say a word, though he did make a small sound of surprise at the revelation. Shay couldn't tell from Haytham's reaction how he actually felt about it. Aside from raising his eyebrows slightly, he kept a straight face. Telling him the truth was a gamble. Shay wasn't ignorant. He knew what most people thought of relationships of that sort. Haytham held his silence, and Shay decided to keep talking.

"We grew up together. My father was a sailor, and his was a farmer. When my old man died in a storm at sea and I had nowhere to go, Liam's family looked out for me. I worked for my keep, but I got in a lot o' trouble too. Bar fights and the like. Liam was always saving my arse. I took more'n a few good beatin's back then. Eventually, times got harder and Liam's father died from an illness. His mother went about a year later. His brother left New York for Boston, and we did our best on our own. Liam started working for the Assassins around that time, but kept me out o' it to protect me – until we decided we were tired of livin' like beggars and moved to the homestead. They were like family to me, Hope and Liam both. Even Achilles, before he sent me after that blasted artifact. Liam taught me to fight and shoot proper, and it was Hope that taught me stealth. Achilles gave me my first set o' pistols," Shay continued, hating dredging up the memories of happier times. Haytham just let him talk, keeping his comments to himself.

"Killin' Hope almost did me in. She was always hard on me, but she was just pushin' me to be my best. You see, Hope didn't waste time or energy scoldin' people she didn't like, that couldn't better themselves. She knew what it was like to have nothing, maybe more than we did," Shay explained, recalling Hope's face and that pretentious smirk she reserved for when she bested him in a sparring match.

"Liam... He..." Shay faltered and looked away from Haytham. "For as long as I care to remember, he was a part o' my life. I wished I could be half the man he was; he kept me grounded. I doubt I would've survived those years without him. The thing that's killin' me that I never really said goodbye. I just sneaked into the manor, stole the manuscript and made a run for it. I always thought it was Liam that shot me, come to find it out it was Chevalier and that Liam didn't even try to stop me. Liam was smart, and preferred to do things with as little bloodshed as possible. Maybe he could've even seen things from our point o' view. I never gave him that chance."

"It was a risk you could not afford to take," Haytham reminded him.

"I know that, but it doesn't change the fact that I can't sleep without seein' his face, or even just bein' here... He was my first mate when I took this ship from the British that attacked Chevalier's _Garfaut_. Seeing him die, it..." Shay just shook his head and fell silent.

"You mustn't blame yourself for this, Shay. It is not - "

"Captain! The _Aquila_ 's just opened fire on the _Alouette_!" Martin shouted, banging on the door to the captain's cabin. Shay swore and made a beeline for the door with Haytham hot on his heels. He collected himself as quickly as he could, it wouldn't do to be distracted by long-gone nostalgia now.

"Bloody hell, where did she come from?! She should be hours ahead of us!" Haytham hissed as Shay shoved Mills away from the wheel, and barked orders to the crew.

Somehow, they managed to regain their formation and trapped the _Aquila_ between the _Cherise_ and _Alouette._ The _Morrigan_ and _Marie_ rained mortar shot down on her like the hammer of God. It put more than a few holes in her hull, but the _Alouette_ took a nasty hit from a volley of heavy shot and and was sinking fast. Shay managed to bring the _Morrigan_ around and got most of her crew on board, while Haytham gave the commands to keep firing on the _Aquila._

The fight took hours, but some well-aimed mortar from the _Cherise_ snapped the _Aquila_ 's main mast off right at the base. The scout in the crow's nest fell screaming to his death, and at least four of the crewmen were crushed under the mast as it fell. Shay recognized the first mate, Faulkner, as he managed to avoid taking a shot from one of the _Morrigan_ 's puckle guns. The _Aquila_ 's captain wasn't so lucky. It took his head clean off and blew their powder store to smithereens in one go. Faulkner scrambled to his feet and took the tiller, calling out orders to fire everything they had on the _Morrigan_. That, at least, went according to plan.

Shay knew that once they recognized the _Morrigan_ with both he and Haytham on board, that they would do everything they could to sink her. It was the perfect bait. It would get them the Templars' best ship and the lives of both the Grandmaster and the turncoat that had laid waste to their brotherhood. It'd be worth it, even if it killed them all. Well, that was what _they_ were thinking. Unfortunately for the Assassins, Shay had no intention of letting them take him to Hell with them. When Faulkner brought them along broadside, it left them wide open to a volley of heavy shot from the _Cherise_.

"Full sail! We need speed!" Shay yelled, turning the wheel hard in the direction of the badly damaged _Aquila_. One more good hit, and she was as good as gone. "Brace!" Shay howled, holding tight to the wheel. Haytham just managed to grab onto the railing in front of him as the _Morrigan_ 's ice ram slammed into the Aquila's hull at full force. The splintering of wood and the hopeless screams of the enemy crew that had been in the line of fire filled the air.

"Give me all the sail we have!" Faulkner commanded, wiping blood from his face where a piece of debris had struck him. Through shear luck, he managed to steer the _Aquila_ clear of mortar fire from the _Marie,_ and a strong gust of wind propelled the listing wreckage of a ship out of range for all three of the Templar vessels. Haytham swore more obscenely than Shay thought him physically capable of.

"Let her go," Shay said, bringing the _Morrigan_ back on course from where the rogue wind that saved the _Aquila_ had nearly blown her over. "Full stop! Pull back!" Shay hollered, and the crew grudgingly obeyed.

"We almost have her!" Haytham snapped, betrayal in his voice.

"It doesn't matter. There's not a shipwright in the world that can fix that. They might be able to ground her somewhere and save themselves before she takes on too much water, but the _Aquila_ 's little more'n a floatin' scrap heap. ... _If_ she stays floatin'. They know they're beat, and they don't have the resources to replace her," Shay explained, motioning for Gist to hang back as the _Cherise_ blew past the _Morrigan_ ,still in pursuit. He must have gotten the sign, as the frigate slowed to halt beside the _Marie_ a little ways ahead of the _Morrigan_.

"Very well. As long as they stay out of our affairs, there's hardly any point in slaughtering her crew," Haytham agreed with a curt nod. Shay looked at him as he stared straight ahead, at the horizon that was blurred out by hazy, low-hanging snow clouds. There were holes torn in his cape from a few narrowly avoided musket balls from when they'd gotten in shooting range of the Aquila,and his hat had been blown off by the sudden gust earlier. It was by far the most disheveled he'd ever seen the Grandmaster.

"You know, Shay, I really hope you don't handle your women the way you handle your ship. You're awfully forceful with her," Haytham said with a smirk and Shay only stared at him, open-mouthed as a few of crew that were close enough to hear burst into hearty laughter. Shay thanked whatever Gods there were that Gist hadn't heard it. He'd have had a field day with that one. ...After he, like Shay, had been rendered utterly speechless by the rather uncharacteristic comment.

"Aye, and what city do you think has the fairest lasses?" Shay asked, fondly recalling a completely innocent conversation he'd once had with Liam that led to a heated debate over whether or not the whores in Havana were better in the sack than the ones back home in New York. Not that Liam would ever admit to having participated in that conversation. Then he thought of how Haytham was standing just where Liam always did, and wondered how in God's name that had come to be. ...Even if it was only a temporary arrangement.

"That's not something I ever thought of much," Haytham admitted after a long pause. "I rarely have the time to waste on trivial things."

"I hope you don't treat your women like 'trivial things'..."

"That's quite enough, Shay!"

* * *

 **Cock Robin** \- Idiot


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4:** Cat and Mouse

* * *

Shay was avoiding Haytham; that much was obvious. The Grandmaster didn't bother trying to hunt him down, though. It was hardly worth the effort. If Shay didn't want to be found, he wouldn't be. It really was as simple as that. He needed space, probably. He was still struggling with own internal battle, and Haytham knew full well that cornering him wouldn't help. If he wanted to continue where their conversation in the _Morrigan_ 's cabin had left off, Shay would seek him out when he was ready - and not a damned moment before.

That was why Haytham had other plans. ...Mostly because he was bloody tired of waiting.

"Gist, a moment please?" Haytham asked, knocking on the open door of Shay's office. Gist was alone there, bent over the ledger for the Templar fleet. Neither of them had seen hide nor hair of Shay since their return to New York. He hadn't left, as there were signs of his presence. He must have been using all of his training as an Assassin to avoid them like the plague.

"What is it, Boss?" Gist asked, shutting the ledger.

"Have you seen Shay about?" Haytham replied, seating himself in the chair across from the worn wooden desk.

"No, sir, I haven't," Gist told him. "I hope he stops this nonsense soon. Last I did see him, he was melancholy as a gib cat."

"And when was that, exactly?" Haytham asked irritably.

"Three days ago. He's been here, though. Either that, or someone with very similar handwriting to his sneaked in this morning, and charted a course for the _Duke_ and _Sussex_ to intercept a French convoy near Fogo," Gist explained, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "We'll have to sort him out somehow. Fort Baie Rouge isn't going to take itself back from the Assassins."

"No, it isn't," Haytham agreed, and swept out of the room without another word. In truth, he was kind of amazed by Shay's ability to carry out his duties without being seen. He'd even rooted out an Assassin conspiracy to take control of New York's imports and killed the man responsible. ...Or so Haytham assumed. How discreetly it was handled, and the fact that the local authorities were still scrambling to find the find the businessman's killer, was a clear sign that it was Shay's work. As irritated as he was with Shay's behavior, Haytham had to give him some credit for being able to balance his own misery and the Order's work so well. It wouldn't have been a problem, if Haytham wasn't well aware that it was only a matter of time until Shay reached his breaking point.

He needed to get him back. He just had no idea how. regardless, tracking him down was the first step. He knew backing the ex-Assassin into a corner was a terrible idea that would do nothing to gain his trust, but Haytham was out of options. He'd given him an ultimatum after all, one he'd either chosen to ignore or was incapable of dealing with on his own. Haytham suspected the latter, though the odds that Shay would ever admit it were as likely as a blizzard in Hell.

Shay, most likely unknowingly, left small clues to his movements that Haytham picked up on with ease. His notes and plans for the fleet were the most obvious marks of his presence. There were small things too, like missing ammunition from the armory and a random pattern of objects being moved in his room at night over the course of the following days. He wasn't lucky enough to actually catch Shay in there, however. He didn't expect to be; the hunter was being as cautious as ever. He left nothing to chance on a mission, and he obviously felt the same about his sudden bout of avoidance.

Haytham was forced to give up his routine of scouring Fort Arsenal for any sign of Shay that he could track, when Charles burst into his office about a week later. Haytham looked up from his financial ledger in obvious irritation, and gave Charles a glare that could killed a lesser man where he stood.

"Sir, there's something going on at the brewery. The whole place has gone up in smoke, and it looks like the gangs are having another all out war with the British patrols," Charles said, all in one breath. He looked like he'd ran back there; his coat was disheveled and his hair stuck out at odd angles where it had come loose from the ribbon holding it in place. There was only one thought in Haytham's mind: Shay.

"I will handle this, I want you and the others to stay here," Haytham said, and ran to the armory to gather his weapons. It was a distraction. Shay was using the local thugs to draw attention from something. But what? Well, finding that out wouldn't be too hard. He'd just have to run in the opposite direction.

Avoiding the crowds and the gangs fighting the guards in the street had been no mean feat, but he overheard a lovely rumor about a garden party in Manhattan. Supposedly it was a gathering of wealthy merchants plotting to cut off trade with England to avoid the taxes. Shay would be there, Haytham knew that. The question was one of who he was targeting and why.

Infiltrating the party had been child's play. He lay in wait, hiding inside of a flowering shrub as he watched the guests mingle. It became obvious why Shay was interested in the gathering. A woman, dressed in a pale green gown with bright red hair caught Haytham's attention immediately. She was not in control of the proceedings; it was the other guests that spoke of rebellion against the crown and their unfair taxation. Regardless, she was clearly a major player, and flitted between groups of guests with a practiced grace. She appeared used to such dealings, and was likely simply gathering information. As she turned to accept a glass of wine from a waiter, Haytham caught the glint of metal under her lace cuffs. A hidden blade.

At the first (and only) time she was alone near the dessert table, was when Shay struck. Haytham barely recognized him dressed in a fine black tailcoat with gold and red accents. But from the way he walked, wary and observant of surroundings, Haytham knew it was him in an instant. Barely seconds passed as he clapped a hand over her mouth and drove his own hidden blade through her heart from behind. She hadn't even fallen silently to the ground before Shay vanished over the white fence.

Haytham shook the stiffness out of his limbs and followed, barely managing to keep Shay in his sights as he tore through the streets, Haytham taking to the rooftops. Eventually, Shay slowed his pace as he came to a small open market. Haytham watched like a hawk from around a pile of wooden crates nearby as Shay made a show of browsing a tea merchant's goods. He was listening carefully for any signs of pursuit, searching out of the corners of his eyes for any sudden flashes of movement. Haytham saw him glance in his direction and flattened himself against the wall as he eyes lingered for a fraction of a second longer than they had elsewhere. Shay knew he was there, but wasn't trying to lose him, Haytham realized. If he had wanted to shake Haytham off his trail, he would have done so by now. Intrigued, Haytham followed him from the shadows.

Shay took his time, stopping to buy an apple from a produce seller and a bag of some kind of treats from a small bakery. He looked over his shoulder every now and again. Haytham couldn't tell if it was an unconscious habit born of the natural skill-set of a practiced hunter, or if he was making sure that he was indeed being followed. He stopped at the door of an old boarding house, pausing with his hand on the doorknob as he discreetly observed his surroundings. Apparently satisfied, he entered. Haytham waited a few seconds before climbing the east wall, stopping to peer through the windows of the rented rooms. On the very top floor in the right front corner of the building, he found Shay's room. He'd left the window wide open and was sitting in a worn leather chair with one of the Templar fleet's charts spread out on a table in front of him.

By now Haytham was positive Shay had purposely led him there. He never would have left a window open with his back to it. ...A window that any Assassin could easily (and silently) fit through with no difficulty.

"I was wonderin' when the bloody hell you'd find me, Sir," Shay called, just as Haytham braced himself to slip through the open window. "I'm a little disappointed it took causin' a ruckus like that to get your attention. ...And Gist, that beef-head, didn't figure out that the 'coordinates' I penned in the naval ledger were the address to this place and my room number."

"You are impossible," Haytham said with a scowl and hopped down into the sparsely decorated room. "Why go to these lengths to avoid us, yet lure me here?"

Shay rolled up the maps for the fleet, and turned to face Haytham. "Cause it was you who I wanted to talk with. I knew the others wouldn't know how to find the trail. Bring your arse to an anchor already."

"You could have just come to my office if you wanted to talk," Haytham replied, seating himself on the edge of the bed that took up most of the small room. "This is ridiculous."

"Not without Charles listenin' at the door for a chance to lick your boots," Shay grumbled, and Haytham couldn't help but let out an amused snort of laughter.

"All right, I'll grant you that," Haytham conceded. "So what is so important that you resorted to this?" Shay shifted uncomfortably in his chair and stared blankly out the window at the setting sun before he finally answered.

"You know, recitin' this in my head was a heck of a lot easier," Shay grumbled and looked down at this hands that were folded in his lap and, Haytham noticed, shaking slightly. "I know you told me to deal with this, but I can't. I'm tryin', really, but I don't know what to do."

"Am I correct to assume there is more to it than what you told me before?" Haytham asked with genuine concern.

"Aye, but I wouldn't know how to put words to it if I wanted to," Shay told him dejectedly. "I don't regret any of it; I know I was doin' right. I'd do it all again, if I had to. It's just... It's hard. Was hard, I guess. It's a little easier now that I've killed off everyone I knew personally. ...But the fact is, I did just that, and all the rag-water in the world ain't goin' to change it, or make it hurt any less."

"Well, you could come home for a start. Staying here isn't going to do you a lick of good," Haytham told him sagely. Shay opened his mouth to protest but Haytham cut him short before he could speak. "Think back to how this all began, when you found yourself still breathing and in the Finnegans' care when you escaped Achilles' homestead. How did you cope then?"

"That was before I ran Hope through the heart and shot Adéwalé in the head!" Shay cried in exasperation.

"I know, but what did you do then?" Haytham pressed.

"I helped Monro sort out the gangs here, and rebuild some o' the places they destroyed. I knew nothin' could make up for what happened in Lisbon, but he thought that doin' right by people could give me purpose," Shay answered, suddenly interested in the warped wooden floorboards beneath his feet.

"And did that help?" Haytham demanded.

"For a while, Aye."

"What changed?"

"It's just too little, and too late," Shay told him, finally meeting Haytham's eyes. Haytham sighed; he should have known Shay was too much of a realist to be comforted by such ideals, no matter how well-meaning they might be. But what could he do? Shay had brought him here hoping for some kind of guidance, but Haytham had none to offer. He could tell Shay about fifty different ways to kill someone, but this...

They sat in a stony silence before Shay finally spoke up. "We have to take back Fort Baie Rouge. Would you come with me? I'm not sure I can tolerate Gist right now. He has a habit for guilt-trippin' and I don't think he even knows he's doin' it. 'Sides, the crew likes you."

"Of course," Haytham told him without any hesitation. In truth, he was secretly glad for the opportunity. Maybe it was in his blood, but Haytham enjoyed being at sea. Granted, the trip on board the _Providence_ had been anything but pleasant, but sailing with the Morrigan's crew was different. They were a jovial bunch who took whatever the winds threw at them in stride. There wasn't any drama either, they respected their Captain, and he them.

"Meet me at the docks at sunrise," Shay said, sadness evident in his voice.

"I will be there," Haytham assured him, and took Shay's clear note of dismissal for what it was.

* * *

 **Melancholy as a gib cat** – down in the dumps

 **Beef-head** – idiot

 **Bring your ass to an anchor** – take a seat

 **rag-water** – cheap liquor


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5:** Drowning

* * *

Shay paced the boarding house room restlessly after Haytham left the way he'd come – through the window. He didn't know why he asked him to come with him to reclaim the fort, the comment about Gist had been nothing but noise. In truth, he just wanted Haytham there with him. He was a wreck on a good day, but his fear of disappointing Haytham was the one thing keeping him in line. Shay simply seemed to be able to think more clearly when he was with the Grandmaster. Maybe it was because he knew the truth of his ties to Liam, and how difficult it really was for him to hunt the brotherhood down. Gist knew some of it, but not the depths of what he'd felt for Liam. Haytham didn't know that either, really.

Knowing that Liam was alive was enough for Shay after he left the homestead, but that wasn't the case any longer. The only thing that gave him solace was the fact that Liam died from injuries he'd sustained when he fell during the quake, and not from anything Shay had done. That may have been a blessing in itself, because Shay knew he'd never be able to turn his blade on Liam. He had spent many sleepless nights wondering what he would do when he was inevitably forced to confront Liam. There was simply no way he could do it.

Shay shook his head and slammed the open window shut, making sure to slide the lock into place. It was pointless, really. A piece of glass wouldn't stop an assassin. He'd never really thought of ever trying to move on, to find someone else – a woman to marry maybe. No one ever made him feel the way Liam did – no, that wasn't true. He just didn't like thinking about it, or the fact that a pathetic desire just to be in Haytham's company was what _really_ prompted him to ask the Grandmaster to come along with him to the North Atlantic. There was nothing romantic there, though. The mere notion of that would be laughable at best. Still, he knew the others were concerned for him, yet Haytham was the only one actually trying to help. That, Shay had to admit, was the last thing he'd ever expected. Haytham was cold, unsociable and not the easiest person to approach by any means. Yet, he'd gone out of his way to look out for Shay's well-being. Granted he was a complete arsehole about it, but how could Shay really expect otherwise?

Miserably, Shay threw himself onto the bed. He'd need to get some rest if he was going to sea in the morning.

* * *

Good as his word, Haytham was waiting near the harbor master's when Shay arrived at the waterfront. He nodded his head in greeting as Shay approached, carrying a pile of maps and his spyglass. Haytham didn't look like he'd slept any better than Shay had, but neither of them made a comment. Shay gestured toward the _Morrigan_ that was docked nearby and Haytham followed without a word.

"What did you tell the others?" Shay asked as he waved to Mills who was waiting on the docks beside the _Morrigan_.

"That you and I are making a trip to Boston to track down a possible lead on the precursor box," Haytham answered smoothly. "Gist was rather put out that he wasn't invited, but I gave him enough work to keep him too busy to remember his own name."

"I suppose that'll do," Shay replied and leaped across the gap between the dock and the Morrigan's deck with ease. Haytham followed and took his place on the upper deck beside Shay.

"All right boys, let's get movin'!" Shay ordered after handing the maps to Mills. He felt marginally better to be leaving New York behind for a while. Maybe they actually would go to Boston afterward. He had no new leads and Haytham knew it, but it wouldn't hurt to pick up some goods for trade. The Order didn't run itself on good intentions, after all.

Most of the day passed in silence between Haytham and Shay. Both of them occasionally sang along with the crew's shanties, but they hadn't really spoken to each other since leaving. It didn't bother Shay much. It was perfect sailing weather, a little cloudy with a good, strong wind. He took a deep breath of the salt air, letting it calm his nerves. In spite of his father's death, and all the difficulties his ship had faced, Shay was never afraid of the open sea. Rather, he felt at home.

"You should get some rest, Shay. I can take the tiller if you want," Haytham said to Shay, who blinked and yawned loudly. He hadn't even realized he was falling asleep where he stood until Haytham's words snapped him out of his trance. He nodded, and let go of the wheel. Haytham knew quite a lot about sailing, though it had been Shay who taught him the the actual mechanics of it during their last trip. He wasn't worried about leaving the _Morrigan_ in his care; there was nothing but open sea for the next week and the crew would keep the bearings for him.

* * *

...Shay struggled to stay on his feet as the ground buckled and shook beneath him. The sound of a woman screaming her child's name and begging God to save him made something snap in Shay's chest. He panted raggedly, scaling a wall that was already leaning toward the ground. Shear force of will kept him moving as he vaulted from a windowpane onto the crumbling clay roof tiles of another building. _Keep moving forward_ , he told himself as he braced for the impact of a falling watchtower that crushed the row of buildings in front of him. Catching his breath, Shay pressed onward. Flames licked at his clothes as he leaped across an expanse of burning debris. He could see the harbor now. Only a little further...

Scaffolding collapsed in front of him,blocking his way to the docks. Cursing, and running on pure adrenaline, Shay strafed hard to the right to avoid it and darted down a side street. He leaped over the wreckage of a home and skidded to a halt in front of another pile of burning timber. The dead eyes of a young man looked up at him, almost accusingly. Then, the panic started to set in.

He kept running; it was all he could do. Shay flew up a set of marble stairs as they cracked and turned to dust under his feet. He slid along the ground to keep from being crushed by a falling wall, and stumbled to his feet just in time to climb the side of a still intact general store. Tearing across the rooftops, he smashed through the window of a watchtower near the harbor. The force of yet another tremor sent him flying across the room and straight through the window on the other side. The glass splintered into half a million pieces as Shay fell and hit the water hard.

The impact forced the air from his lungs as he fought to get control of his limbs. The choppy waves tossed him about like a piece of driftwood as he fruitlessly kicked trying to reach the surface. He could see the sunlight dancing on the water, but it felt like something was pulling him down. His lungs burned with the need for air and his vision went hazy. But just before it all faded to black, something grabbed his wrist and dragged him to the surface. Desperately, Shay clung to the side of the little wooden rowboat, gasping for breath as his rescuer pulled him up by his shoulders. He could swear that his heart stopped when he saw Haytham Kenway dripping wet, sans his hat and cape.

Shay came awake on the floor of his cabin on board the _Morrigan_ with a pained gasp. His heart pounded in his chest. He gathered his wits and crawled into his chair near the desk. He poured himself a glass of whiskey and knocked it back like water, just as the door to the cabin opened. He blinked in confusion, and frowned when he saw Haytham standing there.

"Shay? Is everything all right?" He asked.

"Nightmare," Shay grumbled, hiding his face in his hands.

"Odd, you were calling my name," Haytham replied. Shay wished he could simply crawl into a hole and light himself on fire. Calling his name? That was a new low, one he'd rather pretend never happened.

"I don't recall that," Shay said shakily, knowing Haytham could see right through the thinly veiled lie. Haytham pulled the door shut behind him and seated himself in the chair in front of the desk. He didn't say anything, but he didn't have to. He was waiting for a proper explanation, and Shay knew he wouldn't leave until he had it. He swallowed, but his throat was as dry as old parchment and he coughed instead. Wordlessly, Shay poured himself another glass of whiskey and downed it.

"Lisbon," He choked out. "I was drownin' and... You pulled me out o' the water just before..." He shook his head hopelessly. That was as good of recount as Haytham was going to get, like it or not. In the silence that followed Shay wondered if the dream had been symbolic, rather than his usual nightmares. In a sense, it fit. Haytham _was_ trying to drag him out of the abyss. Metaphorically speaking, of course. The thought calmed him considerably.

"I see... How often do you have these nightmares?" Haytham asked, but even Shay knew that Haytham was aware of the answer and just saying anythingthat came to mindto fill the silence.

"A better question might be 'when don't I have them?'" Shay answered glumly, and something in Haytham's stormy grey eyes made him wonder what it was Haytham actually saw in him. Why was he going to these lengths to try and save him from himself? His priorities should be to the order, not sailing to Fort Baie Rouge on what Shay was sure Haytham knew was just a whim.

Shay leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk and hiding his face in his hands. It was pathetic, and he'd admit it over his dead body, but he'd give anything not to have to sleep alone. The hardest thing after leaving the Assassins was waking up to an empty bed, without Liam beside him. The other Assassin had been a trusted confidant and so, so much more than that. That was what he needed now, more than anything, but he had no one like that. Haytham was dangerously close to it, and that unsettled Shay a bit. When had the Grandmaster, who had never been anything but cold and calculating, become the person Shay wanted to run to? Yet at the same time, the _last_ thing he wanted Haytham to see was this consuming weakness.

"Shay? Are you well?"

"Depends on the definition." He replied, sounding broken. Vacantly, he wondered how Haytham would react if he asked him to hold him as Liam had years ago. The mental image _almost_ made him crack a smile, if only because Haytham was sure to think he was joking. Lost in his thoughts, he didn't even notice Haytham get up and stand beside him until he lightly rested one of his hands on Shay's shoulder in a gesture of comfort. _Where did that come from_ , Shay wondered. Haytham had zero patience for whining. So, again, why was he putting up with Shay's melodrama? Regardless, he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"I'm sorry for all this. It feels like I'm findin' fault with a fat goose. I need to move on, but I can't let go," Shay replied, without looking up. He felt dangerously close to crying, and that was the _last_ thing he wanted Haytham to see.

"You are only human, Shay."

"Please leave me alone for a while," He managed to say in a reasonably even tone.

"No," Haytham said firmly. "You need to face this. If you keep running, it only gets worse. Trust me, I know. Whatever it is you aren't telling me -"

"It wouldn't make a difference, it's not somethin' you can fix!" Shay growled.

"Let _me_ be the judge of that." Haytham said, still clearly refusing to leave.

"I just hope you don't think any less o' me..." Shay mumbled and hid his face in his hands.

* * *

 **Finding fault with a fat goose** – whining, basically. Pointless complaining for attention, that sort of thing.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6:** How to Mend a Broken Soul

* * *

Shay didn't answer right away, he just stared at his hands as if his silence might be enough to make Haytham lose his patience and leave him to wallow in his misery. It didn't work. Haytham tapped his fingers the arms of his chair, out of Shay's line of sight. He'd never had the misfortune of having to discipline badly behaved children, but he imaged this was pretty close to how some of them might respond when backed into a corner. ...And maybe that wasn't the right way to approach this. For all he knew, Shay might react like an angry cat if he didn't see a line of escape. Just as Haytham was thinking it might be better to avoid the claws and spitting, Shay finally broke the silence.

"I'm tired o' this life, tired o' the killin' and the guilt. ...But I made this bed and now I have to lie in it. I know that," Shay replied, still not meeting Haytham's eyes. "The worst thing, though, is that I'm sick o' bein' alone. Everythin' else, I can live with. I hated bein' an Assassin. Hell, I hate bein' a Templar too, but I know how important our work is and I'm not about to abandon it. But I wasn't alone then, like I am now. I'm not as strong as the lot o' you think I am. I never was. Liam was always my strength. You can't fix that. No one can."

"Shay -!"

Shay didn't reply, he just got up and left the cabin without another word. The crew probably wouldn't notice anything off about him unless he drove the ship into an ice burg to spite himself. Shay, Haytham now knew, was a lot better at hiding his emotions than he ever imagined. How much pain was behind that seemingly easy smile? Shay was right though; he couldn't fix it. But he was wrong about something. He wasn't alone. He was just too damn stubborn to let anyone in. Gist had tried, and obviously gone about it the wrong way. He meant well but he didn't always think before he opened his mouth. Gist also wasn't nearly as tenacious as Haytham. He wasn't about to give up on Shay, even if the man's own pride could very well wind up being the death of him.

Haytham dug through the drawers in Shay's desk for a bit of parchment and a pen. Thoughtfully, he dipped the pen in the inkwell and neatly addressed a note to Shay. He rewrote it several times before he decided it was passable. He read it one last time as the ink dried, before carefully folding it and leaving it on the small table beside Shay's bed, where he was sure to find it.

As expected, Shay completely ignored Haytham's presence when he returned to the deck. The weather was turning foul, and snow was starting to fall heavily. Haytham watched as the other man absently brushed some of the wet white powder off his shoulders and shook it out of his hair like a dog might. The crew was mostly quiet, some of them running off to their quarters to bundle up properly as a chill wind was picking up with a vengeance. Shay just wrapped his gloved hands tighter around the wheel. His jaw was clenched. If Haytham read the signs right, he was furious with himself. Though, he wasn't sure if it was because he had shown weakness or something else entirely.

Strangely, all Haytham really wanted was for him to be at peace with himself. He still couldn't figure out why he cared so much. If anything, he'd have given his soul to know what Liam's secret was. How had Liam been able to get through to him? What was it that he had done to keep Shay looking forward? Surely it wasn't the sex, not that Haytham particularly wanted to think about that. If it had been, Shay would have had an entire harem of whores at his side rather than trying to drink away the memories. That much, Haytham was sure of. Shay was nothing if not good at running from his demons. The state he worked himself into was a clear sign that he'd finally bolted straight into a dead end with no gold bridge leading out.

Haytham yawned, inhaling snowflakes and wondered for a moment what exactly it was he liked about sailing. He wished Shay a good evening, which was completely ignored, and returned to his cabin for the night. Haytham lay awake, staring at the rafters above him. Sleep never came easily for him, but even less so tonight. The answer was obvious, Shay needed a confidant but there was more to it than that. He didn't want to be alone, did that mean he wanted a lover? No, Haytham doubted that. But one thing was starting to make sense.

Liam wasn't just Shay's friend and lover. He was his protector. Shay had said himself that Liam had saved him from the streets, and more than a few tavern brawls gone wrong. Liam had seen Shay at his worst, and dragged him back to his feet instead of letting him dwell on his mistakes. He hadn't given him space to work it out on his own. He'd probably backed him up against a metaphorical wall and told him to get his shite together. ...Which was basically what Haytham had done. Although, Shay wasn't terrified of disappointing Liam. And that, Haytham realized was the thing that was holding him back. Like Charles, Shay needed his approval, craved it even. Though, _unlike_ Charles, Shay wasn't angling for rank and prestige within the order.

What Shay needed wasn't a lover. He needed someone to keep his arse in line, pick up the pieces, and not think any less of him for being a little broken.

Deciding that sleep was just going to keep eluding him, Haytham sat up in his bed and lit the small whale oil lamp that was sitting on a wooden crate next to him. His, technically Gist's, 'cabin' was actually the back corner of the cargo hold. There was just his bed, a small writing desk, a dresser and some cabinets for storage. In other words, it was hardly glorious, but better than a hammock in the crew's quarters. The area was boxed in by walls of neatly stocked crates of cargo, leaving only an opening wide enough to walk through that led to an equally narrow path to the hatch. Haytham pulled on his coat and grabbed the lantern. He'd tried to navigate the winding pathway in the dark once, and had no intention of repeating that particular experience.

The deck was quiet, aside from a few of the crew members milling about playing a game of cards nearby. He could see Mills at the wheel, with his long blonde hair tied back with a ratty scrap of red cloth. He had his head bowed against the snow. Haytham assumed that Shay had gone to bed, and leaned against the railing to look at the choppy waves below the Morrigan's hull.

"How far to Fort Baie Rouge?" Haytham called to Mills.

"We're not goin' there," Though, it wasn't Mills that answered. It was Shay. He was sitting with his back turned to Haytham, playing cards with the other men. Haytham could see his hand from where he standing, and winced. He had this game won, that was for sure.

"What?" He asked incredulously. "That was the whole point! We need to -!"

"There's nothin' left o' it, Sir," Shay explained. "We passed by a British convoy about an hour ago. The captain said they were heading to New York seein' as the fort was abandoned and blown to smithereens. They didn't find anythin' but rottin' bodies when they went ashore. The Assassins just destroyed it with a ship's canons, apparently. They didn't garrison it."

"That makes no sense," Haytham replied shaking his head. "It would have been to their advantage to seize the fort rather than destroy it."

"I don't think they have the manpower to maintain it," Shay told him cryptically. "Their numbers in the colonies aren't what they used to be. It would make them vulnerable if they spread themselves too thin. They're just tryin' to make as much chaos for us as they can. It's better'n nothin' in their eyes."

"So now what?" Haytham inquired, seating himself beside Shay. He seemed calmer than before. That was a good sign. At least he wasn't ignoring him for the time being.

"Whatever you want, Sir. We can head back to New York, or Boston if you'd like. Maybe check in on Pitcairn and the others," Shay suggested, tossing his hand, a royal flush, down on the deck. Haytham would bet money on him cheating; no one was that lucky. There was a collective groaning from the others as they slid the pot, a motley collection of odd trinkets, in Shay's direction. He just waved it off and told them to keep their things, that he was only playing for something to do with himself. ...Which Haytham knew meant he wasn't sleeping either.

"No, I want to see the fort with my own eyes," Haytham told Shay firmly.

"As you wish," Shay grumbled. "Mills, set a course back east!" Mills didn't reply, but the _Morrigan_ slowly turned back on course.

"You should rest," Haytham told him. "This storm doesn't seem to be letting up."

Shay finally turned to face him and gave him a look that quite plainly stated his opinion on that matter. Haytham raised his eyebrows, and Shay gave in without even saying a word. He muttered something under his breath and stalked off to his cabin.

"Startin' to feel like a hen-frigate 'round here, eh boys?" Martin piped up, laughing. It took Haytham far longer than it should have for him to pick up on the comment, and the others had already fallen into hysterics by then.

"I assure you gentlemen, that even if we engaged in such a relationship, by no means would I be the bloody wife," Haytham hissed.

"Aww, didn't know you was engaged!" One of the other men chimed in. Haytham turned his back on them, swearing to himself as he headed back to his own cabin. He figured Shay would be more than a little angry if he taught them a lesson or two in the meaning of pain.

* * *

 **Hen-frigate:** A ship that's ran by the Captain's wife.

 **Gold Bridge:** An easy means of escape


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7:** Never Assume

* * *

Shay wondered what the hell was wrong with him. He just didn't have it in himself to disobey Haytham, not even for something as insignificant as taking a bit of rest. It irritated him a bit, yet at the same time it was something of a comfort. If Haytham still bothered to give him pointless orders, he hadn't made a mess of things. Yet. Shay sat down at his desk in the captain's cabin and stared vacantly at the map laid out across it. He was afraid to sleep when it came down to it, never mind the nightmares. What if he woke up screaming Haytham's name again? Mills had said to 'just kiss the man already' when he left the cabin after that _horrible_ conversation. Shay had told him, in no uncertain terms, right where he could shove that idea.

With a sigh, he reached for his pen to fill in the ship's log for the day. It wasn't there. He frowned and dug around a bit, finding it neatly tucked away in the top drawer with the inkwell. Haytham must have used it. Shay was too lazy to bother putting it away half the time. Absently, he opened the old leather bound log that he'd had since he commandeered the _Morrigan_. There was a page torn out, right after where he'd recorded the previous day's progress. A surge of annoyance that Haytham would touch his things passed over him, but then he recalled that he _had_ in fact given Haytham permission to use whatever he needed. ...So what had he been writing?

Shay shook his head and filled in the log, reporting the news about the fort and Haytham's decision to press onward. He flipped the book shut and nearly crawled to his bed as he realized, for the first time in days, how tired he actually was. That was when he saw the scrap of neatly folded paper tucked under the edge of the book he'd left on his bedside table. Curiously, he pulled it out and knew from the feel of it that it was part of the missing page from the _Morrigan_ 's logbook. Curiously, he unfolded it. It had only one sentence written on it, in Haytham's tidy scrawl: 'You are not alone; never assume that I will think less of you, or that I would ever look down upon you in the first place.'

Shay stared at it for a moment, at a total loss. Why couldn't Haytham have just said that? Oh, right. He stormed out of the room and ignored his presence for the rest of the afternoon like some kind of petulant child. He was thankful that Haytham apparently wasn't angry with him. Shay tucked the scrap of paper back under the book and laid down on the bed. He needed sleep. He was in no condition to try to analyze the cryptic message that could have several possible meanings. That and... He didn't know what to do about the fort. He had to think of some kind of excuse not to go onshore. The image in his head was enough to make him nauseous. Destroyed buildings, dead bodies strewn in the debris – no. He had to stop thinking about it. It wasn't Lisbon. It wasn't his fault this time.

With a small sound of frustration, Shay yanked the blanket out from under him and wrapped it around himself. He fell into a fitful sleep soon after, his dreams a series of broken images of dead eyes staring up at him and blood on his hands.

When he dragged himself out of the cabin the following morning at dawn, he hardly felt rested at all. He took his place at the helm, beside Haytham who was already up. He greeted Shay with a polite nod of his head, which he wordlessly returned. He didn't really feel like talking. He felt like he might actually be dead and not even know it. He fought the urge to tell Haytham to stand somewhere – _anywhere_ – else. Something about him being in Liam's old position was giving him an ulcer. He couldn't even begin to put words to all the mixed up emotions where the Grandmaster was concerned. There was respect and trust, sure. ...But there was also something else, something else he didn't want to acknowledge because he knew it would never lead to anything good. He tried to steer his thoughts away from that path, from wondering if there could be something between them like what he'd had with Liam. He knew he could never replace Liam, but if Haytham could be... Shay shook his head, as if the motion would dash the idea from his mind. Haytham wouldn't want that, and there was no good reason that he should. Besides, he would probably think Shay had finally lost his mind if he ever suggested a such a thing. _Never assume..._

Shay glanced at Haytham out of the corner of his eye. He was looking straight ahead, with his hands resting on the railing. The snow had stopped for the most part, but it was still windy so he'd left his hat in his cabin. Instead, he wore he his usual overcoat with a thick woolen scarf.

"Something on your mind, Shay?" Haytham asked, without even looking at him. It was as if he knew that Shay was thinking about him.

"Aye, the fort... Why are we botherin' to go all this way? It's just three skips of a louse, if you ask me," Shay replied. It was the truth, but not at all what was on his mind.

"It probably is, but we need to be sure," Haytham told him in a tone that clearly implied that he knew Shay was avoiding the issue, as usual.

"Sir," Shay began to say, and faltered for a moment. He checked to make sure none of the crew members were around before he continued speaking. "When we get there, would it be alright if I... If I don't go on shore?"

"Why?" Haytham asked, frowning. "Surely it's not anything you have not seen before."

"That's just it. I _have_ seen it before," Shay replied, gripping the wheel so hard it hurt.

"I understand. I will take a few of the crew with me, you may stay behind if you prefer," Haytham suggested. Shay let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, and felt some of the tension go with it. He'd rather not go there at all, but this he could live with.

* * *

It took them another week to make it to the ruined fort. Shay watched as Haytham nimbly jumped down onto the broken docks, splashing a bit of frigid seawater on his coat. Shay took a deep breath and followed. He had meant to stay, but he didn't feel like explaining why to the crew.

"You do not have to do this," Haytham reminded him as they approached the caved in main gate. Shay sloshed through the slushy, wet snow beside him and shook his head.

"It's fine," He replied. It wasn't, and he knew damn well that it wouldn't be. But, given a choice, he'd rather have an emotional crisis in front of Haytham than explain to his crew that he was actually terrified to go ashore because he was probably going to have flashbacks of Lisbon. ...Not that any of them really understood. They weren't there. Well, Mills and Martin had been, but they never left the ship.

The first body was laying in a heap near the gate, his limbs twisted in unnatural angels. Haytham averted his eyes from the fallen redcoat, but kept going. Shay tried not to think of how well the ice had preserved the poor man's corpse. There were more slowly decaying bodies strewn about the inner courtyard in random places. Some of them with their weapons still in hand. Four of them were crushed beneath a fallen wall that belonged to one of the guard towers. Shay's heart began to race, and his breath caught in his throat. He could swear he could hear that poor woman screaming her child's name, begging God to spare her little boy. There was the scent of blood in the air, and burning flesh as innocent people died, trapped in burning buildings that fallen in on themselves. Shay fell to his knees, panic consuming him as he fought to remember how to breathe. It was just another nightmare. He had to wake up. ...But why was it so cold?

"I suppose there is little point in reclaiming this place. It is not really worth the – Shay!" Haytham's voice sounded far away, and he tried to call out to him but he'd fallen through the window and the water was rushing to met him -

"Shay!" Shay gasped, choking on the icy northern air. It took him a moment to remember where he was, as his mind tried to process why he was lying in the snow with Haytham kneeling over him. "Can you hear me?" Shay nodded stiffly and forced himself to sit up. He shivered, though not entirely from the cold and shoved his badly shaking hands under his arms.

"...Lisbon," Haytham said mostly to himself, and Shay nodded silently trying to breathe enough to ease the pain in his chest. Carefully, he hauled Shay back to his feet and led him to a crumbled brick wall just outside the main gate, where the bodies and most of destruction weren't visible. He sat Shay down on the edge, and took the space beside him.

"You need to breathe, Shay," Haytham told him patiently. "This isn't Portugal. It's the north sea. You're safe here, and you did nothing to harm these people."

"I... Know," Shay replied hoarsely. "Sorry, I... Should have stayed."

"Why did you come?" Haytham pressed.

"Because I can't keep runnin'," Shay mumbled, a little more coherently. He felt like he'd fallen off a horse half drunk and gotten run over by it, before waking up days later face-down in a gutter. Vacantly, his mind registered the warm weight of Haytham's hand on his shoulder. He leaned into the touch unconsciously, clinging to Haytham's presence like some kind of an anchor. Slowly, he came back to reality and wondered if he'd ever be able to look Haytham in the eye again. He should have come up with some lame excuse to stay on board the _Morrigan_. But was that really it? Or was it something else? Maybe he wanted to try and face his demons, knowing that he wasn't alone this time.

 _Not alone._

He took a breath and choked on it, coughing violently. Haytham wordlessly held him upright until it passed. Shay fought back tears, watching as his shaky breaths rose in misty clouds before him. He leaned against Haytham's shoulder, for physical support mostly. But he couldn't help but think of how badly he longed for something as simple as the warmth of human contact.

"We should get you back to the _Morrigan_. The cold won't do you any good," Haytham said, and stood, pulling Shay up with him.

The hunter staggered, but gained his footing and let Haytham lead him back the ship. Haytham fed the crew some story about how Shay had fallen on a patch of ice, and nearly shoved him through the door of his cabin in an attempt to save him the shame he'd been so desperately trying to avoid. Haytham ignored Shay's protests and sat him down on the edge of his bed. He pulled the thick duvet over Shay's shoulders and took a seat beside him, but not close enough to touch like before. Shay glanced over at Haytham who appeared to be deep in thought, but he seemed to know he was being watched and gave Shay a slight smile.

That was when Shay realized that he was completely, and utterly dead as nit. He swallowed past the lump in his throat and wondered if there was any hope for him at all. It had started as an internal conflict of whether or not he could trust Haytham as a confidant... Which had evolved into more than a few thoughts of them together. But now, it was suddenly clear. Black and white, even. In stark clarity.

He wanted Haytham, had probably wanted him from the day they met. He looked up, his dark hazel eyes meeting Haytham's steely gray ones, and he wondered how to put words to it. If he _should_ put words to it. What if he rejected him? It'd kill him.

* * *

 **Three skips of a louse** – worthless, or complete a waste of time.

 **Dead as nit** – dead, really super dead.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8:** Good to Know

* * *

Haytham had known something was wrong with Shay as soon as they set foot on the shore. He was jumpy, nervous, and honestly just seemed to be completely traumatized. Which, needless to say, was utterly out of character. He also knew that from the way Shay tried to steel himself after seeing the first broken body, that he should probably tell him to wait. He'd seen this before with soldiers, when he'd worked alongside Braddock during and after the siege of Fort Bergen Op Zoom. Certain things could trigger memories of traumatic experiences and they'd fall into a state of shock that it was never easy to pull them out of. Well, assuming he'd gotten to the poor bastards before Braddock, who had about as much patience as a starving lion with a steak dangling in front of its nose. ...But what was it about this place that was getting to Shay? Dead bodies alone wouldn't do this to him.

Haytham had outright panicked when Shay nearly passed out, babbling something about a child he had to save. It wasn't until he saw the guardsmen crushed under the fallen wall that the pieces fell into place. The level of destruction, the placement of the bodies... It reminded him of Lisbon, which had been a horrid enough affair that it lead to Shay questioning everything he'd believed in. Surely, it left him with a few scars besides the visible ones. Regardless, seeing Shay fall apart like that had been unnerving at best, but Haytham had seen worse. Besides, what was he going to do? Leave him there? Never.

He watched Shay like a hawk as he drew the red satin duvet tighter around his shoulders. He'd calmed down considerably once Haytham had gotten him into the captain's cabin. Luckily, the crew seemed to have bought the story about him falling on some ice. He'd also barked orders at them to set a course for New York, and could feel the _Morrigan_ begin to move away from the shore. Shay looked up then. The longing and pain Haytham saw in his eyes was overwhelming. For a moment, he wondered if Shay would stab him with something if he touched him. Really, he just wanted to comfort him, but didn't know how. Playing the cold-hearted killer was a thousand times easier than compassion for Haytham.

"Can I ask you somethin', Sir?" Shay finally spoke, giving Haytham an odd sort of stare.

"Certainly," Haytham replied, glad to see him finally in an apparently stable condition.

"When I told you that Liam was my lover, did that change anythin'?" Shay inquired, looking away. Haytham raised his eyebrows. Where was he going with this? What did it matter? He'd seen far worse with what had happened to Jenny and Jim Holden. What was it to Haytham if Shay's tastes were a little deviant? It wasn't like he or Liam had been forced against their will, or hurt anyone because of what they shared.

"Change anything? No. It put a few things in their proper context, certainly. But I do not see why it should matter otherwise." Haytham looked out the window at Fort Baie Rouge slowly vanishing in the distance, and wondered what exactly Shay was thinking.

"And you don't see anythin'... Wrong with it?" Shay pressed, letting the blanket fall from his shoulders so he could remove his coat that was wet from falling in the snow. Haytham watched him silently, starting to get a sense of what Shay was _really_ trying to ask. And how did he feel about that exactly? He chose his words carefully.

"Not especially," Haytham told him with a shrug. "I do not see how any harm could come of it. There are far worse things in the world."

The silence that followed was palpable, but companionable. He'd finally gotten somewhere with Shay, that much was obvious. He was less evasive, and Haytham suspected that may have been half the reason Shay went ashore with him. Perhaps he felt safe with Haytham. Maybe the whole reason he'd even asked Haytham to come was because he already knew what had befallen the fort, and doubted he could handle dealing with it alone. Actually, that was looking more and more like a viable theory.

"That's good to know," Shay said quietly.

Was it, now? Haytham had no idea how to feel about that, really. To him, such feelings were an alien thing. Even sex he'd really only ever used to gain an advantage in a few schemes in the past, or just because he needed a good romp every now and again - like any other man. Ziio was different, of course. But even then, it fell apart. He'd like to blame Charles for that, really he would, but deep down Haytham knew it was his own damn fault. He stole a glance at Shay who seemed to be intently studying the pattern embroidered into his blanket. ...Anything to avoid to meeting Haytham's eyes. He wondered if letting Shay come along had done more damage than good.

"I'll be alright," Shay said after a while. "Why don't you make sure Mills doesn't think we're doin' somethin' untoward."

Haytham scoffed, but took the opportunity to escape for what it was.

Back outside he took a deep breath of the icy air, hoping it might clear his head. Absently he bade Mills to return to his post in the crow's nest and took the Morrigan's wheel. He wondered if it was in his blood, how he quickly he'd learned how to maneuver the ship. It felt like second nature to him – as simple as breathing. Regardless, it was relaxing and carefully steering Shay's beloved _Morrigan_ around the the icy water took his attention away from his thoughts of her captain. Haytham would never admit it, but above all else, he was scared. If there was one thing he didn't understand, it was human affection – laughable though it might sound. He wanted to help Shay as he was a valuable asset to the Templar Order that he could not afford to lose, nothing more. But now... Now it was more than that.

"Master Kenway?" Haytham grunted noncommittally and didn't even look at Martin who was acting as the First Mate. "I asked if you thought we should stop in Halifax on the way back? We're runnin' low on provisions."

"I suppose that would be prudent," Haytham agreed, not even really thinking about it. He couldn't recall the last time he'd been so distracted. He doubted he ever had been. His upbringing had never allowed him to lose sight of his path. Both his father and Reginald had taught him how to stay focused, and avoid distraction. He questioned everything, and analyzed it until he understood it in his own way. There was an order and purpose to everything he did, a method behind the madness. But he just could _not,_ for the life of him, make sense of the sudden affection he felt for Shay. It was like nothing he'd ever experienced before. ...It probably wasn't even sudden. It had likely been stalking him for some time, and tackled him when he least suspected it.

Shay didn't leave his cabin for three days, only emerging for food and other necessities. Haytham piloted the _Morrigan_ , and Mills took over for him when he stole a few hours of fitful sleep in between. Near noon on the fourth day, Haytham had decided he was tired of Shay's childish shite. He gripped the Morrigan's wheel so hard that his knuckles were white, and it was a wonder he hadn't ground his teeth to dust. The very second he was about to hand her over to Mills and kick down the door to Shay's cabin, he finally decided to grace the crew with his presence.

"Where are we?" Shay asked sheepishly, coming up to stand behind Haytham.

"About a day to Halifax. We shall be stopping to resupply," Haytham snapped, immediately regretting the steel in his tone.

"How's your leg, Cap'n?" Martin called, giving Shay a familiar smile.

"My leg? Oh it... Fine," Shay mumbled and stood beside Haytham, resting his hands on the railing in front of him. Haytham ignored him, and steered the _Morrigan_ around a nasty chunk of rock sticking out of the ocean. Shay made a face and grabbed onto the rail to keep his footing when the ship tilted a bit too far to the side. Some of the crewmen snickered to themselves, one of them commenting about posh British gits and their need to overcompensate.

"Apologies," Haytham said with a bit of a wince. Shay laughed quietly and shook his head.

"It takes practice, more'n you've had yet anyway. Don't worry about it so much, Sir." Shay gave Haytham a warm smile. ...And that was all it took to cool the mindless anger that had been welling up inside of him over the past three days. A smile. He wanted to stab something for the irony of it all.

"D'you want me to take the wheel? You've got t'sleep sometime."

Haytham sighed, and moved aside to let Shay take his usual place at the helm. He didn't leave, though. He just took up his post as First Mate and shooed Martin away, barking Shay's orders to switch to full sail. Shay didn't comment, he just gave Haytham an odd look and stared straight ahead at the open sea. They'd be able to see Halifax's coast soon, maybe even reach it before nightfall the following day with a little luck. He watched Shay out of the corner of his eye. He seemed calmer than he had been before they left New York. Perhaps the journey hadn't been a waste, after all.

"What'll we do when get home?" Shay asked, breaking the companionable silence.

"Right now there is not much on our plate, unless something came up while we were away. But with the French defeated, we have some good opportunities to work our way into solid standing within the political system. Well, that is mine and the others' line of work, anyway. I'm sure I will find some task to put you to," Haytham replied, watching a gull circling overhead. Good, that meant they were close to land.

"Aye, I'm sure you will," Shay said with a smirk. "I vote for makin' Charles scrub out the jakes, though."

"Hire a bloody maid. Charles isn't your cleaning lady," Haytham grumbled in mock annoyance.

"Thank God for that, I'd hate to see him in a maid's outfit," Shay retorted, and both of them burst into helpless laughter. Somehow, Haytham knew he'd knew remember that afternoon for years to come. It was the first time in his life that he'd ever felt truly at ease, without having to wear a metaphorical mask to keep those around him at an arm's length. Still, he had to question everything he thought he knew. ...Because why did it feel so right to laugh and joke with Shay when it was in his nature to scoff at such behavior? What was it about being with Shay that brought out both the best and worst in him?

* * *

 **Jakes** – outhouse/privy


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9:** Longing

* * *

"There was really _nothing_ left of it?" Shay glared at Gist from over the top of a pile of rolled up naval charts heaped on his desk at Fort Arsenal. He'd been back in New York for a little over a week, and reduced to helping manage the Order's finances. There wasn't much else for him to do, what with the Assassins under hatches and the gangs either dead or sent packing.

"How many times do I have to tell you, Gist? There's nothin' left to bother wastin' the time and resources to rebuild," Shay snapped icily. He didn't really want to talk about the fate of Fort Baie Rouge, especially not with his pathetic meltdown still painfully fresh in his memory.

His thoughts drifted to Haytham, and he still couldn't figure out how he'd found himself apparently infatuated with the man. Not that he'd acted on it. They were entirely too cold, tired and cranky after the whole escapade to talk much of anything but business on the way home. Though, it didn't really bother Shay much. Haytham had seen him at his worst, and hadn't turned his back on him. That spoke volumes, really. True, Shay was anything but stable emotionally, but he wasn't alone anymore. Just knowing that gave him something worth hanging onto, and he couldn't remember the last time he honestly felt that way. The last thing Shay needed to do, was muck the whole thing up by letting the Grand Master find out that he was secretly undressing him with his eyes every time his glance wandered in his direction.

"Shay?" Shay tilted his head slightly in a questioning gesture. Gist grumbled in annoyance. "I asked if you kissed Master Kenway yet. Mills wanted to know..."

Gist _just_ managed to dodge the book that Shay hurled at his head. It wound up on the floor in the hall, after hitting the wall on the other side of the open door with a loud thud.

"Well, I'll take that as a yes. I'm surprised, Shay. I didn't think you had it in you."

"Keep talkin', shitbird, and I'll cut off your cock and shove it up your arse. _Sideways,_ " Shay growled, giving Gist a warning glare and aiming another book.

"Honestly, I would pay good money to see that."

Both men turned in surprise to see Ben Church standing in the open doorway holding the fist book Shay had thrown at Gist. "It's a damn pity I don't have the time. Shay, Master Kenway sent me to inform you that he needs you in his office - immediately."

"Aye," Shay grumbled, and pushed his chair back with a loud scrape on the wooden floor. What did he want? Shay only hoped he found something that could be solved with violence, because he was itching to sink his blades into something to release some of the mindless pent-up frustration.

"Give him a hug for me, Shay. Oh, and a proper ravishing for Charles who's probably drowning in his own bitter tears of jealousy somewhere by now," Gist said, his words dripping with sarcasm.

Ben nearly choked to death for how heartily he was laughing. Shay bit back a litany of cussing and settled for leveling them both with what he hoped was a menacing glare.

"I'm goin' to tan both o' your hides later," He retorted and sulked out of the room.

He could hear Ben and Gist's hysterics all the way down the hall. Why was it that everyone else seemed to see something that he wasn't sure of himself? No. That wasn't an image Shay needed in his mind right then. Haytham probably had work for him. Besides, if anything ever came of his feelings, he'd die before he let anyone else know about it. Haytham, he was sure, would at least agree on that. The man was practically the living definition of discretion. He knocked three times on Haytham's office door, and didn't even wait for an answer before he shoved it open and walked in. Haytham looked up from the large leather-bound journal he was writing in and gave Shay a forced sort of smile. He carried that book everywhere with him, Shay knew. Once or twice, he'd tried to sneak a peek at its contents, but Haytham _never_ let it out of his sight. He closed the door behind him quietly and took a seat in the vacant velvet chair in front of Haytham's desk.

"Where is Charles?" Haytham asked.

"According to Gist, drownin' himself in jealous tears," Shay informed him with a shrug. "Remind me to stab Mills."

"Such drama. It is beyond me why they feel the need to invent this nonsense. It is like dealing with children. Really, though. Where is he?" Haytham pressed, closing his journal and stowing it in the top drawer of his desk.

"Bailin' Thomas' idiot arse out of boarding school. He got caught passin' off fake coins at the market again," Shay explained. "Why?"

"Because if he was here, I was going to give him some work to do," Haytham said with a nonchalant shrug. "I do have a job for you, however."

"What is it?" Shay inquired, fidgeting a bit in his seat. Please let it be something other than this bureaucratic nonsense, he prayed silently.

"We need to replace the _Soleil_. The Assassins are not powerless without the _Aquila_ , even if we have knocked them down a peg," Haytham told him, digging through one of his desk drawers for something. "Do you think you can manage that?"

"It'll be no trouble, Sir. The frogs might've lost the war, but they're still skulkin' about. I'll have the fleet take one o' their vessels," Shay answered as Haytham got up from the desk and they both went for the door. He hoped he managed to hide his disappointment. He could set sail himself, sure, but that would mean leaving. Strangely, he didn't really want to leave New York. ...Didn't want to leave Haytham.

"Excellent. Now, I unfortunately need to give Thomas a proper lecture about behaving like a responsible adult. I pay him more than enough _real_ money to spend at the market. I suppose you are free to go for the time being, so long as you see to your tasks," Haytham said, though something in his tone made Shay wonder if he really wanted to send him away.

Shay dashed the thought from his mind, and told himself for the hundredth time that he needed to stop pining after a man that had about as much interest in him as Thomas had in sobriety. "If you say so," He mumbled, and definitely did _not_ purposely let his hand brush against Haytham's as they parted ways.

Shay was starved for touch; that was obvious. He hadn't really thought much of it in recent times, but Shay couldn't even begin to describe the sudden, odd sort of longing he felt just to be close to another human being. How long had it been since he'd lain with another? Not since the first weeks after leaving the Finnegan's, as far as he could recall. Though, that had been an utterly pathetic and ill-advised attempt to force himself to let go of Liam. Still, in all honesty, it took most of the self control he possessed not to throw himself at Haytham as he slowly made his way down the hall with his back turned to Shay. And where had _that_ come from? It didn't help that Shay had never been more conflicted in his life, either. Part of him told him that he needed Haytham like air, the more rational side was questioning the sanity of it all.

"I'll... I'll go then," Shay thought aloud. He needed to remind himself that the last place he wanted to be caught was standing in the hall, watching Haytham leave with a sad, forlorn look in his eyes.

Shay lost track of time as he wandered aimlessly through the busy streets of Greenwich, stopping sometimes to admire the view of the ocean from the docks. It felt strange to be able to go where he pleased, without having to worry about a job that needed doing. Well, technically he didn't have any work aside from the precursor box. He'd dried up all the leads they had. The only hope was for the Assassins to make a slip-up somewhere along the line. It was bound to happen eventually. Still, it could take years – decades even.

It had only taken a few moments to give one of his fleet captains the orders to capture a new Man o' War. Shay sighed in disgust and leaned against a worn wooden fence blocking off the front of an empty building, as he watched a group of children playing hopscotch in the dusty street. He'd like to say he longed for those days of innocence, but he'd never really had them. He was a sailor born and bred. There was salt water in his blood, and conflict followed him around like a black cloud spewing death and misfortune. He didn't really make his own luck; he left nothing to chance. In Shay's mind, preparation was everything. If you took precautions, and had a plan for every possible outcome, then everything always would go your way in the end. Well, mostly. Human error did tend to throw a wrench in several of his plans over the years. Somehow, things still always worked out in the end. He was quick to adapt, not lucky.

It was nearing nightfall, and the setting sun painted the sky with vibrant colors that cast its reflection on the ocean. Shay admired the view for a moment from where he sat on top of a large shipping crate on the docks, and thought to himself that it was probably best to head home for the night. If he stayed away too long, the others (meaning Haytham) might think he was avoiding them again. ...Or he could go find a tavern and play cards until dawn. No one would complain about him robbing a bunch of drunks blind, if he put the money toward new guns and a spare set of sails for the _Morrigan._ He hadn't slept properly in days anyway.

"It is a lovely sunset, I must say."

Shay bit back a slew of thoroughly uncouth swearing, and glared over his shoulder at Charles who was standing a few paces behind him. He wondered just how much of a mess he still was. It wasn't like Shay not to hear others approach him. Normally, Charles would have had a better chance of getting struck by lightening than catching Shay unawares.

"Aye, it will be fine weather for sailin' tomorrow. There's an old sayin' my father taught me as a child: 'Red sky at night, a sailor's delight. Red sky in the mornin', sailors take warnin'," Shay said, carefully keeping the bitterness out of his voice and hoping the pointless rambling might get Charles to leave him be. "What d'you want?"

"Nothing in particular. I was heading to the printer's shop to, ah, bribe them to tastefully edit a few articles in regards to Thomas' charges," Charles explained, leaning against the wall beside Shay. "And, I suppose I should probably tell you that Master Kenway will give himself an ulcer if he thinks you have gone missing again. No offense intended, of course."

"Quit talkin' like an apothecary. If I took offense at that, than I might as well o' murdered Gist by now," Shay told him humorlessly.

"I am not jealous, either, for the record. If anything, I feel like the two of us are the only ones not acting like schoolboys lately. _Really._ You and the Grand Master... How much kill-devil did Master Gist have to drink to start spewing that idiocy?" Charles continued, folding his arms across his chest. "That being said, you should head back. At any rate, I am off. A good night to you."

Shay watched Charles leave, and tried not to wish he'd step in a pile of horse shite on his way. Charles could be a decent human being, Shay knew, as long as no one was standing in the way of his goals – whatever they may be. Still, some things are best in small doses, and Charles was definitely one of them. He was right about one thing, though. Haytham would worry; Shay knew that. With a sigh, he started back on his way to Fort Arsenal.

* * *

 **To talk like an apothecary** – BS, basically. Talking nonsense.

 **Kill-Devil** – Rum

 **Shitbird** – Kind of like calling someone an asshole.

 **Boarding School** – Jail. Originally it specifically meant the Bridewell Prison.

 **Under hatches** – Dead

 **Frogs** – I know this is used at least once in Rogue, but just in case... Basically it was a derogatory term for the French.


End file.
